Young as a Dying Star
by Vialana
Summary: How exactly does one kill a god?


**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Death Note featured herein.**

_This story is essentially based on a random thought that popped into my mind when searching for good Death Note fic. Mostly it stems form the first line._

_I'm finding that all of my DN one-shots seem to have similar themes and styles. __This piece definitely has the same sort of tone as "Basking" and was slightly influenced by that work, but doesn't particularly relate to it in any way. Much.__ It's quite odd and kinda gets you wondering just how much influence one has over one's work and how much influence that work is allowed in return. This story really went somewhere I hadn't initially intended.  
_

_No warnings, just introspection from a rather odd source. Though there might be a slightly blasphemous line of thought throughout the piece — although, given the nature of Death Note itself, that should hardly be something too much to handle for most readers. Some reference to the end of the series is made as well.  
_

**Young as a Dying Star**

Though there were many who would find it deplorable and would spend their entire lives denying it, the honest truth about the world was that it revolved around Yagami Light.

Humans were such vain and vapid creatures that it came as no surprise that such a charming handsome prince could come along and sweep the entirety of humanity off its feet and whisk it away to a castle in the sky with ne'er a though of the world it left behind below. It was only to be expected when confronted with someone so completely _superior_ — godlike; of course the masses would beg for the honour of clinging to his toes as he rose back to the heaven from whence he came. Such a man was not long for the mortal coil; perfection and human were two states of being never meant to intersect.

What was most impressive, however, is that humanity didn't even know how charming and handsome their great prince was. There was no face behind the mysterious allure; perhaps that was a selling point for some who coveted the blood-soaked title of _god_ but those who had confronted the true face of _Kira_ knew that the title of ­_god_ was almost obscene to attribute to such a being. The title and mask of Kira was, honestly, superfluous — no matter how useful and amusing the man who used it found it to be. Had Yagami Light presented himself as the world's saviour — no, hiding, no mask, no _Kira _— there would have been no need for games; the world would have fallen at his feet in an instant and gratefully.

Such was not the way of the divine, however. It was a failing all those separated from the lowly worms had in common. Distance. Indifference. Boredom. Egotism. Yagami Light lowered himself to playing with the minds and future of humanity for fun, for the challenge of besting the only one capable of tearing his wings from his back and toppling the prince from his throne.

Odd that his most passionate emotions would be stirred by a single human and no lofty cause — as would be befitting of a creature such as _Kira_. But then, L was as close to Kira's godhood as any mortal could be. It was no wonder such a power, human or not, would excite Yagami Light. He was always one to thrive on human emotion — aspiring to make it better, more worthy of being felt by such as he. Emotions, however, had always been a distraction no matter how delightful they may be. Light was Kira and could not afford to play games beyond those petty puppetry amusements with his worshippers. He couldn't afford to care, to be _involved_.

All sovereigns lost sight of their dreams after a time — it was always the way with ultimate power, cyclic and devastating. The entirety of human existence was defined by destruction and power: by death. Here was a man — the most _perfect _man — who had control of all; the world in his hand ready to be crushed or stroked or moulded into indefinable shapes.

He stood at the cusp of change — the birth of true power and the rise of the one true god — yet nothing could be heard but the scratching of a pen.

It was odd how easily humans forgot things.

Like that _god_ was entirely a human concept.

Yagami Light stood atop the world and it crumbled beneath his feet. He had no wings to slow his fall into darkness and there was nothing that could get a shinigami to trade his wings — they were, after all, the most valuable asset a shinigami could possess.

Ryuk merely chuckled at the sight of Yagami Light's frozen grimace and tucked his notebook away. He could see the feelings of horror and confusion and dawning hope that infused the mortals witness to the fall of a god at the pinnacle of his power but he was doubtful they understood neither his reasoning nor the pure delight he took in such an action.

He hadn't saved them. There was nothing worth saving.

There was just power and death and a world with no light.

It rather reminded him of home.

The sun set on the bright colours of Tokyo and, standing atop the tallest tower, Ryuk stared out at the mass of humanity infecting the world with his sharp smile.

"Neither heaven nor hell." The words hung like stringy maggot-ridden meat in the air. "I doubt either would have suited your temperament; you'd have hated both. So boring. I did you a favour. You were destined for nothingness but I don't think that will last. You've changed the world, killed it and nurtured it. You've shaken things up so badly that no one and nothing can afford to stay the same. You were an interesting guy, Yagami Light."

As the stars began to shine — invisible to those who could not see beyond the limitations of their prisons of artificial light — Ryuk spread his wings for the last time in the human realm.

"It'd be a shame to see a god fade away so young. So show me something fun, _Kira_." He cackled and jumped from his perch. "Show me something the world has never seen before. Show me a true god, Light."

The last of the gods fled the mortal realm and the world below was silent as though waiting and hoping to be saved.


End file.
